


Coming Up Roses

by dynazty



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, race has a big (dysfunctional) family, race needs a hug, spot is lowkey a softie, spot lives with jack & medda, spot's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynazty/pseuds/dynazty
Summary: “Are you hurt?”“Not physically.”Spot sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, biting down on it hesitantly. “I dunno, Race, it’s really late. Medda’s going to kill me.”There was another pause and a slight tremor of static. Then, even shakier than before,“Please, Spot. I need to get out of here. They’re fighting again.”“Who?”“My parents.”
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 134





	Coming Up Roses

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from one of my favorite elliott smith songs "coming up roses" 
> 
> this has been minimally edited so please feel free to provide feedback/criticism or point out any mistakes i've glossed over! other than that, i hope y'all enjoy :)

It was fifteen minutes before midnight when Spot got the call. 

The night had been as normal as every other Friday spent at the Kelly household; a warm meal made courteously by Medda, an episode from Jack’s favorite season of The Bachelor, and a shared pint of ice cream between all three of them. And to top it all off, graduation was only seven days away -- Spot was in a state of bliss. 

Finals were over, his SAT score was satisfying, and the acceptance letter he had received only a few days ago to Columbia was sitting folded up neat in an envelope on the dining room table. Things couldn’t get much better. 

He was in the process of settling down under his duvet with the sound of Elliott Smith’s first album filtering out of his faux-vintage record player when his phone began buzzing. At first, he hadn’t paid any mind to it, dismissing it as probably some stupid sales call. But then, after the ringing had stopped for a moment, it started up again. 

Spot let out a muffled groan into his pillow and rolled over onto his side, plucking the phone from its place on the nightstand. He mentally cursed whoever was trying to talk to him so late at night, but just as he was about to hit ‘decline’ he saw the contact photo. 

“Shit.” He hissed, sitting upright in his bed and fumbling to unplug his phone from the charger. Quickly, he pressed ‘accept’, and waited for a moment as the speaker crackled to life. 

“Hello?” He spoke softly, acutely aware of Jack and Medda who were sound asleep in their rooms right across the hall.

There was a moment where nothing but static echoed from the other side of the line, until, _“Spot?”_

Spot could feel his pulse quicken and a minuscule smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” 

What sounded like a sigh of relief resounded through the speaker before Race’s soft voice followed. _“Spot, thank god. I thought you might’ve fallen asleep or something.”_

“Well, I was in the process until you interrupted me,” Spot replied without menace. 

_“I’m sorry.”_ Race’s voice sounded strained. Spot’s brow creased.

“Is everything okay? Why are you still up?” He asked, moving his legs out from under his blanket so he could sit on the edge of his bed. 

More static. 

“Race?”

 _“I, um…”_ Spot could almost feel the hesitancy radiating through the phone as Race began to stutter breathily. _“Listen, Spot could I, um… I really hate to ask you this but, uh--”_

Spot was starting to worry. Race never stuttered or ambled around anything, especially not over the phone. He was normally quick and got straight to the point. 

“What is it?” He broke in, the hand that wasn’t holding his phone curling around the edge of his sheets. 

_“I…”_ There was a pause. _“Can I come over?”_

“Right now?” Spot blinked, shooting a long glance at the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s almost midnight.” 

_“Yeah, I know, and I’m so sorry for waking you up, but it's just, uh… It’s urgent.”_

“Why? What’s wrong?” Spot’s mind blanked for a second, slipping immediately into autopilot. 

Race’s voice was shaky and raspy as if he was whispering and it made Spot’s heart ache with helplessness. _“I… it’s better if I tell you in person.”_

“Are you hurt?” 

_“Not physically.”_

Spot sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, biting down on it hesitantly. “I dunno, Race, it’s really late. Medda’s going to kill me.”

There was another pause and a slight tremor of static. Then, even shakier than before, _“Please, Spot. I need to get out of here. They’re fighting again.”_

“Who?”

_“My parents.”_

A pang of sympathy quivered in Spot’s chest. His shoulders slumped and he inhaled sharply. “Yeah, okay, fine,” He said, standing up and turning on his bedside lamp. “Come over.”

There was a sound of relief from the other side of the line. _“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are a lifesaver.”_

“Yeah, yeah.” Spot tucked his phone into his shoulder so both of his hands were free and turned to the window adjacent to his bed. Carefully, he opened the blinds and peered outside into the dark abyss that was his neighborhood. “Just do me a favor and don’t ring the doorbell. Come around through the side gate and use the trash cans to climb up to my window. I’ve done it a million times, it’s completely safe and Medda won’t hear you come in unless you fall or something. Is that okay?” 

_“Yes, yes, of course. I can do that. Thank you so much.”_

“Don’t mention it.”

_“I’ll be there as fast as I can, I promise.”_

“I’ll be waiting.” Spot took his phone back in his hands and leaned against the windowsill, eyes still trained on the street below. 

_“Yeah, yeah okay. Thank you, again.”_

“It’s nothing.”

_“No, Spot, it’s everything. Seriously, thank you.”_

“You better hurry up, Higgins, before I change my mind.”

_“Yeah, right, okay. I’ll see you in a minute.”_

“Okay. Bye.” 

_“Bye.”_

Race hung up before Spot could even pull the phone away from his ear. He bit back a sigh and collapsed back down onto his bed, tossing his phone to the side and resigning himself to stare up at the dimly lit ceiling in anticipation of Race’s arrival. 

He had never snuck anyone but himself into his house before, and that had only happened on a few late Friday nights that had involved a little too much alcohol. It was never in the case of an emergency. But the sound of Race’s unsteady voice pleading to come over had struck a nerve in Spot’s chest. 

Race’s parents had been divorced for less than two years, and his dad was living over an hour away somewhere upstate. It had been a hard hit on the Higgins family, considering that they were a family of six (Race had three sisters, one of whom was barely three years old and one who was finishing college, and his mother had full custody.)

So, what was his dad doing there? Was his dad even there in person or was it a phone call? Why were his parents fighting in the first place? 

Spot pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the beginnings of a headache. 

He wasn’t completely sure what he and Race were. They were certainly much more than just friends, and they had been like that for close to a year. The only problem was that they hadn’t taken the liberty upon themselves to enforce any kind of label to what exactly they considered each other. Jack poked and prodded at Spot constantly, asking him over and over when he was going to “make it official”. 

Spot always replied with, “We haven’t decided yet.”

Still, as far as he knew, Spot had an obligation to Race. An obligation to listen and to be there for him and to understand him. So, of course, he would wait. 

He would wait for that curly-haired, slender-bodied boy to pop up outside his window. And then he would open the window and let that boy in and hug him and let him talk because that’s what his obligation was. He wasn’t afraid of it. 

After a few minutes of staring at the ancient glow-in-the-dark press-on stars that dotted the ceiling, Spot sat up again and squinted out the window to the balcony. He was just in time to see a figure clad in black cross his lawn and slip in through the side gate. His heart rate sped up ever so slightly and he hopped off his bed to unlock the window. As quietly as possible, he tugged the glass panel up and was met with a rush of cold air. 

There was a clang from the garbage cans below and Spot flinched. The last thing he needed was for Race to wake up Medda. Stealthily, he crept through the window onto the flat portion of the roof just below his room. 

“Race?” He stage-whispered into the darkness. 

“I’m here.” Race’s voice floated up from below, prompting Spot to creep to the edge and peer over.

“Take my hand.” He reached down. 

Race took his hand, and with a hard tug, pulled himself up onto the roof. “Thanks,” he breathed out, meeting Spot’s eyes. 

Spot dropped his hand and nodded his head back towards his window. “Come inside.”

Race blinked at him for a moment, slightly out of breath from his trip, then nodded back and followed. Once they were both safely inside, Spot slid the window pane back down then turned around to face his new guest. 

“So,” Spot started hesitantly, eyes raking down Race’s face and outfit. 

He was dressed in all black from head to toe -- black jeans, black Vans, a black hoodie, a black Jansport backpack, and even black socks. All he needed was a ski mask and a duffel bag to complete the look of “shady man who may or may not be robbing your house”. But for some reason, it was his face that caught Spot. 

His normally bright and bubbly features were greyed and worn out beyond recognition. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his eyebrows were drawn together as if he was trying to keep himself composed. It was a depressing and extremely worrying sight. 

“Hi,” he said weakly, white knuckles gripping the straps of his backpack. 

Spot bit down on his tongue then said quietly, “Do you need anything? Water, band-aids? Anything?” 

“No, I’m -- uh -- I’m fine.” 

He blinked again, mind moving like molasses. “So, are you going to tell me what exactly you’re doing here?” 

Race released a low sigh through gritted teeth, then rubbed his temple. “I guess you deserve to know, what with me crashing your house and everything.”

“Yeah,” Spot replied shortly, sitting against the windowsill and folding his arms over his chest. 

Race winced slightly. “Are you mad?”

Spot shook his head. “No, I’m not mad. Just worried.” 

“I guess, I mean if you were mad I would completely understand, you have every right to be. I know this isn’t exactly convenient for you or anything--”

“Race,” Spot cut him off, “I’m not mad. I just want you to talk to me.” 

Race stared at him for a moment, then swallowed. “Yeah, um…” He turned to Spot’s bed. “Is it okay if I sit?”

“Make yourself comfortable.” 

Race let out a small “thank you” and sat down on the edge of the duvet, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to his feet. 

Spot watched him for a second, then pushed off the windowsill and crossed the room to his record player that was still spinning. Gently, he plucked the needle off the record and set it back in its place, the sweet sound of Elliott Smith’s voice no longer lingering in the air. Then he turned back to Race and lowered himself down onto the carpet in front of him and folded his legs. 

“Well?” he prompted, leaning backward on his hands and quirking an eyebrow at the other boy. 

Race’s hands were clasped together in front of him, and now that Spot was closer he could see the clear tremor in them as he spoke. “Um, you know how graduation is next week, on Friday?”

“I’m aware.” 

“Well, uh, my dad decided to be decent for once and come watch me walk the stage. ‘Cause, you know, that’s what good fathers do.”

“Sure.” 

Race went on, “Instead of staying at a crappy motel he thought it’d be easier to just stay at our house. We don’t have a, uh, a guest room or anything, so we figured he could sleep on an air mattress in the den or something.” 

This time Spot stayed silent, lips pursed in apprehension. 

Race glanced at him for a moment before flicking his gaze back down to some invisible spot on the carpet by his feet. “I thought things would be different -- smoother -- with him and my mom because it’s been almost two years since the divorce.” He sucked in sharply through his nose and grimaced. “But I guess I thought wrong. Almost as soon as he walked in the door, there was this weird… feeling… in the air. Like everyone was holding their breath and waiting for something to go wrong.” 

“I know that feeling,” Spot said, momentarily thinking back to his old foster home. 

“Yeah. Well, it was like that all evening.” The other boy continued, rocking forward. “We had a super awkward dinner, talked about the most basic things like grades and how I was going to spend my summer. At one point he even asked me if I was in any, um, relationships.”

Spot raised his eyebrows. “Did he?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“And what did you tell him?” 

Race’s eyes were wide now. “I told him that nothing official was happening and he kinda took the hint to not go any further.” 

That wasn’t a lie on Race’s part. They weren’t official despite their overly-obvious teenage devotion to each other. 

Spot said, “That’s good.” 

“Yeah…” The other boy trailed off. “He’s not, um, homophobic or anything, I just think he’s silently wishing that I somehow changed my mind and decided to start dating girls again.”

“Funny how some things turn out.” 

Race let out a weak excuse for a laugh and started pulling at his fingers nervously. “Um, but anyway, after dinner was over I was starting to think that it wasn’t so bad my dad was here, and I convinced myself we could make it through a whole week without anything drastic happening. But then after I went to bed…”

“... they started fighting.” Spot finished for him, his eyebrows coming together sympathetically. 

Race nodded, clearly trying very hard to hide any emotions. “Yeah. At first, it wasn’t anything too bad and I figured it would be over pretty soon, but then it just kept getting louder and louder and louder until I thought the whole neighborhood would wake up. I could hear Catie crying, too.” 

Catie was Race’s youngest sister. 

Spot unfolded his legs and leaned forward. “God, Race, I’m so sorry.” 

Race swallowed. “It kept getting worse, and my dad was storming around the house and screaming at my mom and calling her all these things, and I was terrified. They sounded like they were going to kill each other.” He looked at Spot dead in the eyes. “I had to get out of there before they actually did kill each other.” 

Spot’s bottom lip quivered and he pushed himself up from his position on the floor and sat down on the bed facing Race. Tenderly, he slid his arms around the other boy. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“I’ll get over it.” Race murmured, his arms hooking around Spot’s waist and tugging him into a hug. “It just… It’s so scary to hear your own parents who, at one point or another, were in love and everything, and I just…” His voice cracked and he buried his face in Spot’s shoulder. 

Spot held onto him tighter, his heart aching. “I know, it sucks. But I’m glad you came to me first and didn’t do anything rash.” 

“Yeah,” he sniffed. “I’m just glad you were awake to get my call.” 

“I will always be here for you, Race,” Spot said seriously, pulling back to look at his mutually-official-but-not-labeled-boyfriend in the face. “Even if I didn’t end up getting your call, you know that you could come over here anyways and ring our doorbell. Medda wouldn’t be too pleased about the time, but you know she would understand. She let me in years ago and hasn’t given me any reason to leave -- she wouldn’t turn you away.” 

Race attempted a small but grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” He pressed his lips to Race’s forehead softly.

Race looked up at Spot dumbly. “Hey,” he said. “You’ve never done that before.”

“I haven’t?”

“No,” he smiled goofily. “Softie. Giving me forehead kisses.”

“Shut up,” Spot said, resisting the urge to give him another one.

“No, I like it!” Race insisted. “We should do soft things more. It makes me feel like an old couple.”

“Why would you want to feel like an old couple?” Spot laughed.

“I don’t know, it’s sweet! You shut up!”

His voice had gone up an octave, and out of fear of waking Jack or Medda, Spot swiftly caught his lips to silence him. 

Race hummed, returning the kiss before pulling away and yawning.

“Let’s go to sleep, okay? You’ve had a rough night.” Spot said, untangling himself from the embrace and scooting backward so his back was against the headboard. 

“You’re sure it’s okay if I stay here?” Race asked once more. 

“Even if it’s not, I’m not gonna make you walk all the way back home in the cold. I’ll just deal with Medda’s wrath tomorrow.”

“You’re the best,” Race breathed out. Quietly, he unzipped his hoodie and toed off his shoes, discarding them onto the floor next to his backpack. Then he crawled back across the bedspread and slid underneath the duvet next to Spot. 

“Is it okay if I keep the light on?” Spot asked. 

“Go ahead.” 

They settled in under the covers facing each other, shadows obscuring their faces due to the dim light of the bedside lamp. 

Then Spot said, “Is that my shirt?” 

Race answered, “Probably.” 

They both smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! 
> 
> come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://royaldynazty.tumblr.com/) if you so desire. i promise i don't bite :) <3


End file.
